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CHRISTINE. 

SuppDSEd tn tiB rElatEd "by a young sculptor nn the 
hill-sid.E "bBtwEBn FlarEncE and FiEsnlE, 



Gift from 
tHie Estate of Miss Ruth Putnaffl 
Sept. 14, 1931 



CHRISTINE. 



BY 

T. BUCHANAN READ. 



ILLUSTRATED 

FROM DESIGNS BY FREDERICK DIELMAN. 



PHILADELPHIA : 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

715 AND 717 MARKET STREET. 






Copyright, 

1882, 

!y J. B. LippiNcorT 4 Co. 



Gift from 
the Estate Of Mi^s ^ u' h Putnam. 

Sept. 14,. 9c 




and ill the silence 

and the shadow wrapt apart, 

^. 1 Avill loose the golden 

claspings of this sacred 
i' 
^_ tome — the heart. 



By the bole of yonder cedar, under branches 

spread like eaves, 
We v/ill sit where wavering sunshine weaves 

romance among the leaves. 

There by gentle airs of story shall our dreamy 

minds be swayed, 
And our spirits hang vibrating like the sunshine 

with the shade. 

Thou shalt sit, and leaning o'er me, calmly look 

into my heart. 
Look as Fiesole above us looketh on Val d'Arno's 

mart : — 




Shalt behold how 

Love's fair river 

down the golden city goes, 
As the silent stream of Arno through the streets 



of Florence flows. 



I was standing o'er the marble, in the twilight 

falling gray, 
All my hopes and all my courage waning from 

me like the day : 

There J leaned across the statue, heaving many 

a sigh and groan, 
For I deemed the world as heartless, aye, as 

heartless as the stone ! 

Nay, I wellnigh thought the marble was a portion 

of my pain, 
For it seemed a frozen sorrow just without my 

burning brain. 



Then a cold and deathlike stupor slowly crept 

along m}' frame, 
While my life seemed passing outward, like a 

pale reluctant flame. 



And my weary soul went from me, and it walked 
■ the world alone, 

O'er a wide and brazen 
" ' desert, in a hot and 

azen zone ; 




There it walked and trailed its pinions, slowly 

trailed them in the sands, 
With its hopeless eyes fixed blindly, with its 

hopeless folded hands. 

And there came no morn, — no evening with its 

gentle stars and moon, 
But the sun amid the heavens made a broad 

unbroken noon. 

And anon tar reaching westward, with its weight 

of burning air. 
Lay an old and desolate ocean with a dead and 

glassy stare. 







There my spirit wandered gazing, for the goal 

no time might reach, 
"With its weary feet unsandalled on the hard and 

heated beach. 



This it is to feel uncared for, like a useless 

wayside stone, 
This it is to walk in spirit through the desolate 

world alone ! 



Still I leaned across the marble, and a hand was 

on my arm, 
And my soul came back unto me as 'twere 

summoned by a charm : 

While a voice in gentlest whisper, breathed my 

name into my ear, 
"Ah, Andrea, why this silen'ce, why this shadow 

and this tear?" 

Then I felt that I had wronged her, though I 

knew it not before ; 
I had feared that she would scorn me if I told 

the love I bore. 



I had seen her, spoken to her, only twice or 

thrice perchance ; 
And her mien was fine and stately, and all heaven 

was in her glance. 

She had praised my humble labors, the conception 

and the art, — 
She had said a thing of beauty nestled ever to 

her heart. 

And I thought one pleasant morning when our 

eyes together met. 
That her orbs in dewy splendor dropt beneath 

their fringe of jet. 



Though her form and 
air were noble, yet a 

simple dress she wore 
Like yon maiden by the 
/ cypress, which the vines 

are weeping o'er. 





And she came 

all unattended, 

her protection 
^> 
in her mien ; 

And with somew 

reluctance bade 

call her name Christine. 



Then that name became a music, and my dreams 

went to the time, 
And my brain all day made verses, and her 

beauty filled the rhyme. 

Never dreamed I that she loved me, but I felt 

it now the more ; 
For her hand was laid upon me, and her eyes 

were brimming o'er. 

Oh, she looked into my spirit, as the stars look 

in the stream, 
Or as azure eyes of angels calm the trouble of 

a dream. 



Then I told my love unto her, and her sighs 

came deep and long — 
So yon peasant plays the measure, while the 

other leads the song. 

Then with tender words we parted, only as true 

lovers can ; 
I for that deep love she bore me was a braver, 

better man. 

I had lived unloved of any, only loving Art 

before ; 
Now I thought all things did love me, and I 

loved all things the more. 



I had lived accursed of Fortune, lived in penury 

worse than pain ; 
But, when all the heaven was blackest, down it 

showered in golden rain. 

I was summoned to the palace, to the presence 

of the Duke, 
Feeling hopes arise wdthin me that no grandeur 

could rebuke. 

Down he kindly came to meet me, but I thought 

the golden throne 
Upon which my love had raised me, was not 

lower than his own. 

22 



Then he grasped my hand with fervor, and I 

gave as warm return, 
For I felt a noble nature in my very fingers 

burn. 

And I would not bow below him, if I could 

not rise above, 
For I felt within my bosom all the majesty of 

Love. 

" Sir," said he, " your fame has reached me, and 
I fain would test your skill — 

Carve me something, Signior ; follow the free 
fancy of your will. 

23 



Carve me something- 
an Apollo, or a D 
with her houndb 
Or Adonis, dying, 
watching the youn 
life flow from 
his wounds; — 




Or a dreamy-lidded Psyche, with her Cupid on 

her knee ; 
Or a flying fretted Daphne, taking refuge in the 

tree. 

But I will not dictate, Signior; I can trust your 

taste and skill — 
In the ancient armored chamber you may carve 

me what you will." 

Then I thanked him as he left me — and I walked 

the armored hall — 
Even I, so late neglected, walked within the 

palace wall. 



There were many suits of armor, some with 

battered breasts and casques; 
And I thought the ancestral phantoms smiled 

upon me from their masks. 

And my footsteps were elastic with an energy 

divine — 
Never in those breasts of iron beat a heart as 

proud as mine ! 

There for days I walked the chamber with a 

spirit all inflamed, 
And I thought on all the subjects which the 

generous Duke had named — 

27 



Thought of those, and thouglit of others, slowly 

thought them o'er and o'er, 
Till my stormy brain went throbbing like the 

surf along the shore. 

In despair I left the palace, sought my humble 

room again, 
And my gentle Christine met me, and she smiled 

away my pain. 

" Courage !" said she, and my courage leapt 

within me as she spake. 
And my soul was sworn to trial and to triumph 

for her sake. 



"Who shall say that love is idle, or a weight 

upon the mind ? 
Friend ! the soul that dares to scorn it, hath in 

idle dust reclined. 

I returned, and in the chamber piled the shape- 
less Adam-earth ; 

Piled it carelessly, not knowing to what form 
it might give birth. 

There I leaned, and dreamed, above it, till the 

day went down the west, 
And the darkness came unto me like an old 

familiar guest. 



But I started, for a rustle swept athwart the 

solemn glooru ! 
And with light, like morn's horizon, gleamed 

the far end of the room ! 

Then a heavy sea of curtain, in a tempest rolled 

away ! 
Blessed Virgin ! how I trembled ! but it was not 

with dismay. 

And my eyes grew large and larger, as I looked 

with lips apart ; 
And my senses drank in beauty, till it drowned 

my happy heart. 



There it stood, a living statue! with its loosened 

locks of brown — 
In an attitude angelic, with the folded hands 

dropt down. 

But I could not see the features, for a veil was 

hanging there. 
Yet so thin, that o'er the forehead I could trace 

the shadowy hair. 

Then the veil became a trouble, and I wished 

that it were gone. 
And I spake, 't was but a whisper, "Let thy 

features on me dawn !" 

32 



And the heavy sea of drapery stormed again 

across my sight, 
Leaving me appalled with wonder, breathless in 



the sudden night. 



But for days, w^here'er I turned me, still that 

blessed form was there. 
As one looketh to the sunlight, then beholds it 

everywhere. 

And for days and days I labored, with a soul 

in courage mailed ; 
And I wrought the nameless statue ; but, alas ! 

the face was veiled. 

33 



I bad tried all 
forms of feature — 
every face of 
classic art — 
Still the veil was 
there — I felt it — 
in my brain, and 
ill my heart! 

Sorrowing, 
I left the 
palace, and again I met Christine, 
And she trembled as I told her of the vision 
I had seen. 




And she sighed, " Ah, dear Andrea," while she 

clung unto my breast, 
" What if this should prove a phantom, some- 



thinof' fearful and unblest — 



Something which shall pass between us?" and 
she clasped me with her arm ; 

*' Nay," I answered, " love, I'll test it with a 
most angelic charm. 

Let me gaze upon thy features, love, and fear 

not for the rest; 
They shall exorcise the spirit if it be a thing 

unblest!" 



Then I hurried to the statue, where so often I 

had failed, 
And I made the face of Christine, and it stood 

no longer veiled ! 

With a flush upon my forehead, then I called 

the Duke — he came, 
And in rustling silks beside him walked his tall 

and stately dame; 

And they looked upon the statue— then on me 

with stern surprise; 

Then they looked upon each other with a wonder 

in their eyes ! 



"What is this?" spake out the Duchess, with 

her gaze fixed on the Duke; 
" What is tliis ?" and me he questioned in a 

tone of sharp rebuke. 

Like a miserable echo, I the question asked 
again — 

And he said, " It is our daughter ! your presump- 
tion for your pain !" 

But asudden from the curtain, in her jewelled 

dress complete. 
Swept a maiden in her beauty, and she dropped 

before his feet — 



And she cried, " ! father — mother, cast aside 

that frowning mien ; 
And forgive my own Andrea, and forgive your 

child Christine ! 

O ! forgive us : for, believe me, all the fault was 

mine alone !" 
And they granted her petition, and they blessed 

us as their own. 




C 32 89 li 



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DEC 88 

N. MANCHESTER, 



